Habit
by Penn Flinn
Summary: Our favorite psychic finds himself in the middle of a sticky situation. What else is new?
1. Chapter 1

**I'm back! For a minute, at least. My schedule makes it very hard to write very much fanfiction (or anything that's not an essay), but I've had this on my computer for a while now and thought I'd share. It is just a one-shot, just a glimpse into our favorite Psychic's "everyday life." He always gets himself into some sort of trouble.**

**Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of a new Psych pineapple pillow, but nothing more.**

Shawn looked up, flexing his fingers, reveling in the new freedom he felt in his hands. The men weren't looking—this was his chance, if he ever had one.

Gathering all the strength he had from a full day of being tied up in a chair, he sprang up and focused on the door in front of him. He stumbled as he began running and bit his lip. His legs felt insubstantial beneath him.

He ignored this and forced himself forward, seeing the path clear in front of him. He heard a yell, felt something brush his arm, but his adrenaline propelled him forward. He flung open the door with a bang.

He cursed as he nearly tripped down the flight of stairs that was waiting for him. He regained his balance just in time, and began flying down the steps as fast as he could. His hard footsteps echoed loudly throughout the stone stairwell, but he didn't care. He focused purely on hitting the ground, turning the corners on the landings, always constantly aware of the other footsteps that slapped above him.

He rammed himself into the door at the bottom of the stairwell, wincing as he hit. He would have to worry about other injuries later.

As the door opened, he felt the cold rush and sting of the outside air. He paused for only a moment to revel in the freshness of it before taking off.

His sense of time must have been off—it looked close to morning now. The world was still dark, but he could see the faint glint of light in the sky, turning the whole landscape a bluish-gray color. He had been in that place longer than he'd thought.

He shivered. He was still wearing that t-shirt, and it seemed as if he could feel every air molecule like a cold needle prick on his arms. Soon his teeth were chattering. He resolved to buy himself a hot chocolate as soon as he got out of this mess. _If _he got out of this mess.

He heard each footstep distinctly on the black, shining pavement. He ran straight through the wide cul-de-sac, aiming for the main street that he saw so close. He didn't even feel like he was running; it was almost like flying. Each step drove him forward, his long legs soaring. They still shook with every step, but he knew that if he collapsed he would be taken straight back to that place, tied up again, and watched with an eagle eye. He couldn't afford to be clumsy now.

He reached the main road and turned left, facing downhill, just as he heard the distinct sound of a car engine revving. He suddenly felt sick.

He sped up as he raced downhill, sliding and slipping as he flew, every muscle straining and shaking. He searched desperately for somewhere he could hide, _anywhere_—

A thought suddenly struck him. His phone was in his pocket. He needed to call someone, needed to call Lassiter…

Fumbling, struggling as he ran, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He slid it open with two hands, painfully aware of the time he was wasting by slowing down even slightly. His phone was off.

With numb fingers, he desperately pressed down on the power button until he felt the buzz that signified the phone turning on. He resumed his frantic running while the phone slowly turned on, throwing one glance behind him as he did. The car hadn't turned the corner yet, but it would be any second…

And, with that one glance backward, his foot caught on the pavement and he flew forward.

His face made contact with the street. He gasped with the pain, but numbly picked himself up without a thought. He only had one thing on his mind: don't get caught.

Blackness pricked at the edges of his vision, but he stumbled off the side of the road, half-upright, into the grass. He saw a tree a few feet ahead, some bushes…somewhere he could hide. His legs wouldn't cooperate like they did before, and his mind swirled. His nose was suddenly bleeding profusely.

Nearly sobbing with the effort, he flung himself into the bushes and curled up into a ball, making himself as small as he could, trying to hide from the pain. His bloodied fist was still curled around the phone. Breathing heavily, wheezing, he slid it open and felt his heart jolt painfully. The battery low signal was flashing. It could die any minute.

He lifted himself up with trembling arms and managed to glance over the top of the bushes. The car that had been parked in the cul-de-sac drove past. It was speeding down the hill. He hoped they got pulled over, if there were even any cops close by. It didn't help that he had no idea where he was.

He knew that he had to act fast, though. Sooner or later they would get out of the car and go looking for him on foot, if they hadn't already sent out people from the building. There was open space behind him—just grass. If anyone came from that direction, they would see him clearly.

He slunk back down behind the bushes and focused on getting to the address book of his phone. His thumb wasn't working quite the way he wanted it to, but he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or if he was just that weak. He could feel the adrenaline crash coming already, and the pain. Blackness was gathering. He fought it off as he laboriously searched through his contacts and worked his way down to Lassiter's name.

After what seemed like hours of struggling with his phone, he finally managed to hit the call button. He held the phone up to his ear and wiped his nose, which was still bleeding from his fall. The whole left side of his face throbbed.

It was then that he realized that he didn't know what he was going to say at all.

**Reviews are appreciated. Love you all.**

**~Penn**


	2. Response

**Here you are, the unintended second chapter of what will now probably be a three chapter story. You are all too convincing. Ah, well. I had fun with this. Lots of dialogue!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, Lassiter, or Shawn, though I would gladly spend a day with any of them.**

Detective Carlton Lassiter was having a very good day. His eyes were inches away from his computer monitor, papers scattered across his desk, mind working furiously as he neared the end of a case that would surely put his face on countless TV screens. Best of all, Spencer wasn't there to screw anything up.

He heard his phone ring, but was too engrossed in his work to pick it up right away. When it rang for a third time, he pulled his eyes away from the computer screen and picked up.

"Detective Lassiter."

_"Lassie!"_

Speak of the devil.

Lassiter gripped the phone so tightly that it was a wonder it didn't shatter, running his free hand through his hair in frustration. "Not now, Spencer."

_"What, you waited until the third ring so it would seem like you have a social life? That's sweet, Lassie, but I am well aware of your social life or, rather, lack thereof…"_

"Spencer, I don't have time for your shenanigans right now."

_"What about tomfoolery?"_ came the voice innocently from the other line.

"I'm in the middle of cracking this case," Lassiter continued without acknowledging the other man. "So if you would _please_…"

Shawn's voice interjected loudly. _"Look, Lassie, I can help you with that case; it will only take me a second, I guarantee…"_

"Goodbye, Spencer," Lassiter said firmly, his teeth clenched. He was taking the phone from his ear when a panicked voice came from the phone.

_"Wait! Lassiter…I…I need a ride."_

Normally he would have dismissed this, but two things caught his ear: one, the sheer panic in the younger man's voice, and two, the way Shawn had called him 'Lassiter.' He put the phone close to his ear again.

_"Lassie? You there?"_

"Can't you just call Guster for a ride?" he asked sharply, though something like worry was creeping into his mind. The same feeling he'd gotten when he'd discovered Shawn's blood on the ground after the shooting/kidnapping incident. He pushed it away.

_"Um…" _said Shawn. _"This…may be out of his area of expertise."_

Something in Shawn's voice made Lassiter stand—a weakness, a tinge of desperation, of pain. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

_"Let's just say I got into a little trouble with some guys…I escaped, and if my psychic sense aren't failing me I'm pretty sure they're not happy about that. Yep, they're definitely looking for me."_

Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a terse sigh. Though he was feeling the familiar worry build up, he was determined not to let it show. If Spencer could disguise his pain, he could cover up the ridiculous concern.

_"There's a big hill—47__th__." _Lassiter could picture the "psychic" narrowing his eyes as he made out a street sign. _"I'm hiding in the bushes on the side of the road. It's totally like…"_

Before the man could spurt out some ridiculous movie reference, Lassiter interjected. "Are you hurt?" He was already searching around for his keys. He waved his hand absentmindedly in the hopes that one of the other officers would notice and come to his assistance.

Shawn's voice verged on hesitancy, but he hadn't quite lost his usual attitude. _"Well, mentally I am quite intact…oh, and my battery's…dead. Don't…"_

The line went dead. Lassiter swore and hung up the phone, grabbing his jacket even though he knew the Santa Barbara sun awaited him outside. "McNabb!" he shouted at the nearest officer. "Get your keys. We're headed for 47th. Follow close."

As Lassiter shrugged on his coat he tried to suppress the whirlwind of scenarios that were overtaking his thoughts. What had the psychic gotten himself into now?

**Please review! Thank you so much for reading!**


	3. Resolution

**Hey guys! It's been awhile…**

**I want to apologize first for the wait—it's my summer vacation and I have been traveling all over the place. And somehow this turned into a story with three chapters, so I've been sort of winging it. Anyway, I've been working on August Novel Writing Month and decided take a break from my main story and finish this up.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Psych is not mine, and never will be.**

Shawn's heart beat painfully as another bush rustled. _It's just the wind,_ he told himself for the hundredth time. _Just the wind…_

After his phone call with Lassiter his phone had died, and it now lay useless on the ground. In a way, it was like losing his only firm attachment to life. Now he was on his own, at the mercy of time and circumstance. His nose had slowed its bleeding somewhat, but the coppery taste was still in his mouth. Over the course of the phone call his shoulder had gone completely numb, and he was sure that wasn't a good sign. As he pushed himself further down against the bush, pain washed over him. He closed his eyes.

The first thing that jerked him out of his stupor was a distant call.

"Spencer? Spencer! Where are you?"

The second thing was a gunshot and a spray of soil somewhere near his feet.

He jerked his eyes open and threw himself instinctively to the right. In the open space he had so feared before, one of the men from the house was advancing menacingly, gun in hand. Shawn had just enough to roll to the side again before a second bullet whizzed past his ear into the bush.

"Lassie!" he called desperately, waving his arms and risking a glance over his shoulder to see if the detective was anywhere in sight. "Over here!"

The move cost him. A fierce pain erupted in his upper arm as a third bullet grazed it. He yelled and pulled his arm to his chest, thus causing an agonizing pain in his once-numb shoulder.

_Zig zag. A straight line is the shortest distance between you and your attacker._

_ Don't just stand there._

Another shot fired and Shawn set off in a panic toward the road. It figured, he was met with another gun on his other side.

He had a moment of mind numbing panic until he recognized Lassiter's face behind the gun. Content to let the two men shoot at each other to their hearts' content, he dropped to the ground.

"Freeze! SBPD!"

"Just shoot 'im, Lassie," Shawn mumbled.

At that moment a car came screeching to a halt just down the road. For a sickening moment Shawn thought it was the car that had been sent to hunt him down, and knew that Lassiter wouldn't stand a chance against all of the criminals no matter how trigger friendly he was. The two of them were going to end up dead on the side of the road, ten minutes from a residential neighborhood…

Then he got a look at the car, saw the flashing red and blue lights, and watched as two more cops sprang out, already pulling out their guns.

He turned around and saw the criminal pause, weighing his chances against three armed cops. Clearly deciding it was a lost cause, the guy turned with a look of frustration and took off in the other direction. The two cops who had just emerged from the vehicle ran off in pursuit. Shawn raised a fist weakly to fist bump them as they ran past him, but they didn't acknowledge him.

"Lassie?" he offered, fist still raised. However, before the detective could reach him, gravity seemed to pitch him forward and he fell from his kneeling position on to his uninjured arm. The world spun around him.

"Spencer! Are you hurt?"

"When did I get on the teacup ride?" Shawn said, trying to orient himself. "And, more importantly, when did I get to Disneyland? I thought it was supposed to be the happiest place on Earth…" He hissed as Lassiter took his injured arm and inspected the wound the bullet had made.

"It's not deep," the detective said.

"If you're looking for problems with me, I still can't feel my shoulder," Shawn said vaguely, focusing in on the world a little more as Lassiter put pressure on his bleeding arm.

Lassiter took a brief glance at Shawn's shoulder. "Probably dislocated," he said. His eyes searched the rest of the psychic, apparently looking for any further injuries. "My God, Spencer, what happened to you?"

"You know, the usual," Shawn said with a one-armed shrug. "Kidnapped by lunatics for knowing too much. Daring escape attempt. Perfect hair and a constant craving for a pineapple smoothie. Which is still applicable, I'll have you know."

Lassiter shook his head. The faint sound of the ambulance sirens began to reach them. "How in the name of justice do you always get yourself into these situations?"

Shawn smiled wryly. "Habit, I suppose."

** Thank you for all the feedback and thanks to everyone who has followed this story! Reviews are very welcome. So long until the next story!**

** ~Penn**


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